


This Could Be the Beginning of...Something

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-03
Updated: 2009-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chash suggested that Chuck's archangel should quit and be replaced by Gabriel. And so there was fic, because that was pretty much the best idea ever. She also betaed, one more reason I love her.</p><p>More or less gen with one canon pairing and a soupcon of slashiness. Spoilers for "Changing Channels" and "The Real Ghostbusters." As far as I'm concerned "Abandon All Hope" does not exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Could Be the Beginning of...Something

Chuck's week had pretty much sucked.

On Sunday, Becky had gone on vacation to see her mother. That'd been fine, she'd apparently had it planned for _months,_ but they'd just hooked up, and it didn't seem right to lose the first girlfriend he'd had in _years_ cold turkey after only two months.

On Monday his truck died.

On Tuesday his archangel quit. Chuck couldn't figure out how that worked, but there it was. One minute he was working happily at the computer, the next he was looking at a blank screen that said, simply, 'I'm busy. You're on your own.'

The demons started showing up on Wednesday. He'd stocked up on shotguns and rock salt years ago out of superstition, but it was still a pain in the ass; they always seemed to ring the doorbell when he was sleeping, showering, or jerking off, and he was worried the neighbors were going to start complaining about the gunfire.

All of that paled in comparison to the day he met his _new_ archangel, though. Chuck was walking over to his computer, his arms loaded with the essentials for good writing-- Diet Mountain Dew, Fritos, and salsa dip-- when he noticed there was someone in his chair.

Chuck grabbed the holy water he'd started keeping in a Sigg bottle clipped to his belt.

"Relax," the stranger said, swiveling around in his chair. "I'm your new archangel. Name's Gabriel, but I guess you already knew that. Here for, I dunno, protection, smiting, inspiration--" He waved his hand vaguely at Chuck's computer screen-- "which you _clearly_ need, and you know. Whatever else."

"Whatever else?" Chuck had dreamt about the Trickster often enough to know that the guy probably wasn't going to pop out for coffee for him.

"Whatever else I feel like doing," Gabriel said. "Are those Fritos? Hand 'em over." He snatched the bag from Chuck's grasp, and went back to reading the screen. "God, is all your stuff like this? No wonder the books went out of print."

"Thank God it's Friday my ass," Chuck grumbled.

Becky came back Saturday morning. Chuck had found a ten-year-old Mazda to drive by then. It smelled a little like wet dog, but it'd only cost five hundred bucks.

"What happened to the truck?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"It died."

"Maybe you could get an Impala."

"Maybe," he said.

From the back, Gabriel said, "And this is your girlfriend. _Wow."_

_Maybe next week will be better,_ he thought.

 

Next week was not better at _all._

Mastercard called on Tuesday because he, or rather Gabriel, had maxed out his card at Walmart on Tootsie Pops and Red Bull. On Wednesday, the Mazda started burning oil, and Becky started talking about how awesome Sam Winchester was all over again. She also asked the Trickster increasingly detailed questions about the exact extent of his angelic powers. He answered her with bullshit so ridiculous that even _she_ caught on after a while, and ended up ignoring the Trickster completely. On Thursday, Gabriel asked him why he hadn't done more with his life, and Chuck threw an empty bottle of Jack Daniels at him.

Gabriel caught it easily. "Seriously," he said. "Haven't you ever thought about doing something actually _productive?"_

"Sure," Chuck said. "Then I get another headache and wake up on the floor, covered in my own drool. Sometimes vomit. It's not exactly easy being a prophet, you know."

"The old man screwed us all over pretty good," Gabriel reflected, turning the bottle around in his hands.

"Why are you here?" Chuck asked. "You _quit._ You were busy making people miserable and fooling around with pretty girls. Why come here and bother me?"

Gabriel put the bottle down. "Come on," he said. "Let's get drunk."

 

Getting drunk with an archangel wasn't so bad. The bartender never cut you off or asked for your credit card, and an enormous number of pretty girls thought you were the most interesting guys on the planet. Hell, maybe you were, when you were with Gabriel. Now that Chuck had realized Gabriel would duck any question about his actual identity or motivations, he was a little easier to deal with; any time things got too uncomfortable, he'd just bring up Gabriel's former employer, and suddenly the whiskey started flowing and the girls got a little more friendly.

The only downside to getting drunk with an archangel was that even when you were used to drinking a _lot,_ the sheer quantity of the free booze started to affect you.

"I don't understand it," Chuck said into his vodka. "I wasn't religious. I'm not a nice guy. Why _me?"_

"Because," Gabriel said, leaning over the table and patting Chuck heavily on the shoulder, "God's an _asshole."_

That seemed to pretty well sum things up. "So why are _you_ here? Why aren't you in Florida, or Grand Cayman, or..._anywhere?"_

"Cause. I'm sick of hanging around waiting for the hammer to drop. I stick with you, I'll know how it ends."

Chuck looked at his empty glass and realized Gabriel was right. "We need to drink more."

 

Becky was waiting up for him when he came home. That was kind of cute, except that he was _really_ drunk, and so was Gabriel, and Chuck could not figure out _at all_ how that was going to end well.

"She's not gonna be up for a threesome, is she?" Gabriel shouted, directly into Chuck's ear. He probably thought he was whispering.

"No. She's not. She's read my books. She knows you're a jerk."

"Daddy never hugged me enough as a child," Gabriel muttered sullenly. "That's like Sam, right? She goes for that kind of thing, doesn't she?"

"You're a horrible person," Becky announced to him.

"I know," Chuck said.

"Angel," Gabriel corrected.

"Whatever," Becky said. "I'm gonna get back to my apartment. See you."

"If you've cost me my girlfriend," Chuck said as the door closed behind her, "I swear to God--"

"To hell with Him," Gabriel said.

 

Chuck woke up the next morning astonishingly free of a hangover. Gabriel was sitting at his kitchen table, sorting through a stack of envelopes. "Some of your fans are really creepy," he announced. "Though I like this girl who sends pictures. I guess it's nice that they still send actual _mail_ in this day and age." He gestured to a pile of envelopes he'd set to one side. "Your house is paid off," he said. "The electric bill I'm just keeping month-to-month. Becky called, she's gonna come over after work."

Chuck stared at him.

"What? I'm not always an asshole. Just most of the time. You remember what I told you last night?"

Chuck, seized by one of the few self-protective impulses he'd ever experienced, pretended to search his brain. "No."

"Good. Now run out and get me some more Pixy Stix, I'm running low."

When Chuck got out to the driveway, the Mazda had disappeared, replaced by a sweet cherry red Dodge Ram. Okay, so its vanity license plate read _D. Bag,_ but you couldn't have everything.

 

"So my beta reader thought that it was asking too much of the reader to believe that the Trickster was really Gabriel," Becky explained, dipping her garlic bread into the the last of the spaghetti sauce on her plate. "Too _deus ex machina."_

"You're telling me," Gabriel snorted.

"Couldn't you take a walk or something?" Chuck asked.

"Yeah," Gabriel said. "After dinner. Did you pick up dessert?"

"No," Becky and Chuck said together.

"You guys are total buzzkills," Gabriel said sadly.

"Get used to it." Chuck pushed his chair back and picked up his dirty plate. "Or get your own dessert."

When the delivery guy showed up half an hour later with two boxes full of Godiva Chocolates, Chuck couldn't say he was surprised.

 

"You know," Gabriel said, squinting at the screen, "this wouldn't be bad if you took out all the crappy parts."

Chuck put the mail down on the counter and rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"No, seriously. The idea's good. It's just all this 'cerulean orb' stuff is getting in the way."

"Girls _like_ that stuff."

"Not _that much_ of that stuff. Say it once and get it over with. Haven't you read _Twilight?"_

"You have?"

"No, but those twins from last week had. Look, you're trying to write _for_ Becky, not _like_ Becky."

"....I am?"

"Girls buy, like, ten times more books than guys do. You don't know this, and you call yourself a writer? You've got to understand the market. It's not all LARPers in sweaty leather jackets."

"You're sure about this."

"Of course I'm sure. And you need a better pseudonym. 'Carver Edlund?' That sounds like something you'd find if you stuck a pin in the telephone book."

Chuck shrugged. He had, in fact, stuck a pin in the phone book. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

Dean Winchester was _pissed._

"You _promised,"_ he spat, his fists hitting the signing table. "You said you'd stop writing about--"

Chuck grinned. "I'm not writing about you." He waggled the book under Dean's nose. "See?"

Dean grabbed it. "'Anna and Joe?' he read off the back cover. 'Two teens whose lives are changed forever....' What the hell is this?"

"A promising new debut," Chuck said. "At least that's what _Publishers Weekly_ said."

"Who the hell are Charlotte and K.L. Hammer?"

"Look," Chuck said. "It's not a big deal. I've got a contract, I'm not writing about you, everybody's happy, right? So if you just...."

_"Dean!"_

"Oh, _shit,"_ Chuck muttered under his breath.

"Met my new writing partner?"

"You son of a _bitch,_ I should've known--"

"Don't you have an Apocalypse to finish or something?" Gabriel popped a Starburst into his mouth and chewed happily. "I see you've met K.L. here. Stands for Kevin Louis. Charlotte's something of a _recluse,_ you might say."

Dean glowered. "I bet you look good in the skirt, Gabriel."

"Damn right I do," he grinned. "Not everybody has the legs for it. Now run along, 'K.L.' has books to sign."

And Dean disappeared.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Chuck said.

"He's fine!" Gabriel fished one of the strawberry Starbursts out of the package. "You want a lemon one? The lemon ones taste so fake." He settled down behind the table and put his feet up. "Mmm, I can smell the fangirls already."

"You're impossible." Chuck sat up a little and looked out the bookstore window. There was a line. He'd had a line before maybe twice, unless you counted the convention.

Maybe impossible wasn't so bad.

 

Sam sat straight up when Dean came stumbling back into the motel. "What the hell happened to you?"

Dean's glare was hot enough to set something on fire. "Trickster."

"That would probably explain the feathers, yes."

"Angels," Dean said, disgustedly. "They're _insane."_

"So he, uh. Covered you in feathers and, um..." Sam sniffed again. "Candy?"

"Yes. Yes he did. I'm gonna take a shower."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Good thought."

"He was with Chuck," Dean called over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom.

Sam looked up from the computer for _that._ "Is he okay?"

"Oh yeah," Dean said. "He's fine. They're _writing books_ together."

Sam tried to wrap his brain around the thought and found the essential question. "About us?"

"I don't think so."

"Oh. Well. Good."

"Yeah, sure." Dean said. Sam could hear the water running. _"Great."_

"At least he's leaving us alone?"

There was no answer from the bathroom. Sam sighed.

 

Chuck got up from the floor. At least it was only drool this time.

"Did they say anything about me?" Gabriel demanded.

"They said you were an asshole," Chuck said, wiping his mouth and looking for his beer. "What the hell happened to my Bud?"

"Who drinks that crap?" Gabriel said. "Besides, we got our first royalty check today. Let's take Becky out to dinner. Maybe she'll finally go for that threesome."

"You're disgusting," Chuck said. But he called Becky anyway.


End file.
